Prologue
by MythicElf
Summary: Sequel to Prelude. When Dalamus goes away to Skuldafn, Marcurio suffers a mild case of separation anxiety. Dammit, he misses his wife. Rated T for language-Male!Dunmer!Dovakiin x Marcurio-light drabble format


A/N: so... I was gonna do the main story next, but then I went to Skuldafn, found out that I couldn't take Marcurio with me, and this popped into my head. Hopefully it will come up next.

This takes place a couple months after Marc and Dal's wedding, and they live in Breezehome (Whiterun). Dalamus is the Harbinger of the Companions and he's about to head into Skuldafn as of now.

...

"Dammit, Marcurio, you're not going!"

"The hell I'm not. Why wouldn't I go, I go everywhere with you!"

Dalamus crossed his arms, sitting heavily on the bench by the table. "I know you do, but at least I know you won't die if you stay here."

"Oh, please, we've fought dragons, giants, mammoths, whole teams frostbite spiders together. What could be so different about this?"

The Dragonborn sighed, rubbed his hand down his face. "I... It's Skuldafn, um, it... Marcurio, this is probably going to be one of the most difficult things I've ever done. I don't even know how to..."

"Oh, don't get all shy on me now," Marcurio said, sitting in front of his husband, "Tell me what's wrong."

"I... um, I'm going to Sovngarde... to-to go after Alduin," his eyes couldn't stay in one place, constantly flicking between his husband's face and other random places in the house, and slight fear tinged his tone. "I h-have to set a trap f-for a dragon in Dragonsreach and he-he'll take me there, to... Alduin's portal."

"Aw, Dal, c'mere," the mage pulled Dalamus into a hug, holding him close because he knew the dark elf was close to tears when he stuttered. He kind of felt like an ass now...

"I-I'm not even s-sure I'll survive this, I w-want to make sure you're s-safe," Dalamus murmured into the Imperial's shoulder.

"How will I know _you're _safe if I don't go?"

"I w-won't be."

The sigh Marcurio let out made the Dragonborn's chest hurt.

"P-please, Marc, don't b-be angry."

"I'm not," he reassured immediately, rubbing soft circles into Dalamus' back, "I'm worried."

"I have to try."

"I know, I know. When do you leave?"

"Um... a few hours."

"Gods, Dal! Warn a guy!"

Marcurio had barely gotten the words out before Dalamus was speaking over - no, _below_ - him in a quiet, frantic voice, "I know, I-I'm sorry, I just found out last n-night b-because Paarthurnax told me that I had t-to, please don't b-be mad at m-me, I don't want t-to go b-but I have to, it's not my -"

"_Dalamus._"

The ranting Dunmer broke off immediately and looked up, red eyes shining with unshed tears. "I-I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," he dismissed the apology, instead pulling his husband close and nuzzling his face into the soft white fuzz in front of the Dragonborn's ear.

"Marcurio, I'm scared..."

"Me too."

...

Four hours later Dalamus and Marcurio were joined at the mouth, the Dunmer on his back along the length of the bench and the mage on top of him. All of the Dragonborn's stuff for the trip was piled up at the door, forgotten at the moment because he really needed these last few minutes with his husband. But at last Dalamus knew he had no more time to spare, he extricated himself from Marcurio's body and got ready to leave.

"Be careful, alright?" the Imperial said, "Don't try to kill everything you see. Keep your arrows on you always. Remember the healing spell I taught you, and keep ample potions with you in case you need them."

"Marcurio, I've been doing this longer than you," Dalamus joked lightly, but he knew the mage was just looking after him.

"I know," it came out in a slight chuckle, but the playful tone was soon discarded. "I want you to come home to me, Dal. If you die I'll never forgive myself for letting you go alone."

"I'll do my best."

"I'll pray for you, every day," he promised, "I love you."

"I love you, too," Dalamus smiled, and they shared another deep, soft kiss before the Dragonborn left to find his destiny.

...

He couldn't stand it.

It had been, what, three days? And he was already a nervous wreck.

He tried to hide it, push it away, _Dalamus is fine, he's probably kicking dragon ass right this minute,_ but Gods, he couldn't shake the worry. He'd managed to get it to fade a little by busying himself with little menial tasks, but it still sat in the back of his mind like an annoying little afterthought that reared its head with every moment of free time he got.

At night it got even worse, he couldn't sleep no matter how hard he tried, because even though his body was ready for a break his mind was raging with concern for his absent husband. Maybe, _maybe_, he could fall into an uneasy little snooze somewhere around three in the morning, but that totally defeated the purpose because he'd be awake again in an hour. He found himself curling around one of the dark elf's shirts because it _smelled_ like him, and after a little bit of rifling through the chest he found the Amulet of Stendarr Dalamus used to wear before he got a new one. The thing never left his neck.

"Is there something wrong, dear?" Fralia Grey-Mane asked the morning of the fourth day, when they happened to pass each other in Belethor's.

"Oh, it's nothing," he faked a smile, "I haven't been sleeping well, is all."

The elderly woman narrowed her eyes, like she didn't believe him (she probably didn't), but didn't press it. "And how's your husband? I haven't seen him around often since you two brought my son back."

"He's been busy, working with the Companions, you know," he left it at that, not knowing how much Dalamus wanted to advertise his birthright. "He's probably killing something as we speak."

At least he wasn't lying.

"If you say so, darling," she picked up her little bag, put a wrinkled hand to his shoulder, "You know where to find me if you need anything."

"Thank you," he smiled, genuinely, and nodded before she turned and walked out of the shop.

…

Dalamus stopped in his tracks when he saw a dragon's wing rise above the mist. His left hand tightened around the curve of his bow, right beginning to reach for an arrow, but he stopped.

_Don't try to kill everything you see._

It wasn't attacking, just flying around this little peak above the fog that Dalamus was standing on. It might not even know he was there. There was no reason to bring attention to himself.

He'd promised himself that he'd get back in Whiterun in one piece. Once Alduin was dead, he could finally stop running around for the sake of the world, and maybe settle down for a little while. He doubted it would last for long, though; as nerve-wracking as it was, his life as an adventurer was fun, exciting, and with Marcurio fighting with him, he'd never feel unsafe.

...

The ground shook as Alduin plunged from the sky, landing hard with an enraged cry and skidding for another few hundred yards. Dalamus was knocked right off his feet, and he proceeded to crawl backwards as quick as he could as the World-Eater slid to a stop right before him.

It was a sight to behold; the fabled, feared dragon roaring in confused rage in his language as his wings began to burn and deteriorate. He let out one final bellow, raising his head and calling his defiance to the sky, and crashed back to the ground. His soul left him in a rush of wind, pouring into the body of the Dovakiin, and his skeleton faded into a gigantic black void that had appeared at the moment of his death.

Dalamus sat on the ground, chest heaving, eyes wide and staring at the space the dragon had just occupied.

He... he killed Alduin.

And he was _alive_.

And he could go home.

He was too pleased to respond to anything with more than a few words from then on, thoughout his conversation with the gatekeeper, Paarthurnax, and Odaviing, and anyone he happened to meet on the way down from the Throat of the World.

It took him another two days to get back to Whiterun, but he stumbled into the house at two in the morning, nine days after he'd left, fresh out of a much-needed nap while his horse came back home by memory. Even with the complete lack of sleep he was so excited he was buzzing, he needed to see Marcurio and tell all that had happened and kiss him 'till he couldn't breathe and do nothing but just _be_ for at least a week.

But first - first he had to bathe. He smelled and itched and ached all over, and his hair was probably gray with dust and soot and Draugr spit... He shuddered at the thought and hurried to heat some water.

When he came to bed, stripped of all titles, weapons, and strength, left as just the mer who loved his husband, he couldn't contain a smile at the sight of Marcurio. _His_ Marcurio. The Imperial slept deeply, his shirtless form on his side, one hand clutching a shirt and the other curled loosely around the Amulet of Stendarr that Dalamus hadn't worn in months. Warmth bloomed in the Dunmer's chest and he crawled into bed, curled up against Marcurio's back and fell asleep almost instantly.

...

When he woke again, it was to the smell of food - something he was probably supposed to be excited about but couldn't quite get his head around. He briefly thought about getting up to inspect, but the notion of moving around proved less exciting than going back to sleep, or even just laying here in the waning warmth of the spot Marcurio had occupied. So he turned over on his back and shut his eyes.

And was promptly smacked in his stomach with a fork.

He opened one eye, cracking a boyish little grin at the sight of Marcurio standing in the doorway in nothing but a pair of trousers and wielding a large spoon. "I'm home."

"How dare you come back from that long-ass trip and just _go to sleep_," the mage demanded jokingly, waving the spoon like an angry housewife, "Next time you better wake me up and tell me you're back."

"Yes ma'am," the Dunmer snorted at the end of his sentence, unable to keep the straight face he had put on. Marcurio snarled and leapt onto the bed. They wrestled for a few moments, until the mage pinned the Dovakiin, and somewhere along the way the spoon hit the Imperial in his cheek, leaving a slight smear of sauce.

Dalamus leaned up and licked it off, hummed contentedly, "You taste really good."

"I made your favorite."

His eyes actually widened a little, and he pressed a kiss to Marcurio's lips. "I love you so damn much."

"You should, you're my wife," the Imperial grinned, kissed him back.

Dalamus raised a brow. "This coming from the one wielding a spoon?"

"You'll always be my wife, Dal."

With a roll of his eyes and a sigh the Dragonborn conceded, draped his arms over Marcurio's shoulders. It wasn't like the Imperial _hadn't _been calling him his wife for the months since their marriage, and he didn't mind, anyway.

"I really missed you," the mage murmured, pressing his face down into the elf's neck, "I was worried."

"I know, I couldn't wait to get home," Dalamus smiled, ran his fingers through the silky black strands of his husband's hair. "But I kicked Alduin's ass."

The soft rumble of a chuckle vibrated against his collarbone. "Do tell."

"Food first."

"Fine."

Just a few minutes later they were back in the bedroom, Dalamus sitting in the space between Marcurio's legs as they ate happily; the Imperial made mammoth stew with leeks and carrots. He even seasoned it with elves' ear, Dal could tell, and he was really feeling loved at the moment. So, when asked, he revealed the details of his excursion, the dragons, the fort, all those damned Draugr, Sovngarde, fighting Alduin alongside the other heroes, "Gods, it was all just… _really amazing_, but I didn't really dwell on it all that much because I was tired of being away from home."

"You're telling me that you didn't stay to look around _Sovngarde_ because you wanted to come back to me?" Marcurio knew what the answer would be, but he just wanted to hear the elf say it. Call him vain.

"I can go to Sovngarde when I'm dead," Dalamus mumbled around a bit of stew, "Right now, I'd rather be with you."

And damn if he didn't blush right up to his ears for that. Married or not, it made him feel really good that his husband would leave _heaven_ just to come back to him. He wrapped his arms around Dal's torso, pressing his face into soft white hair, "I love you."

The Dragonborn snorted. "And I'm _your_ wife."

"Always."

…

A/N: Okay, I was totally not gonna do this, but it kept thumping in my brain like a goddamn jackhammer until I wrote it. But, I promise, the actual story is the next one!


End file.
